Breathe Me
by xcoloursandpromises
Summary: She had stopped the rain in his heart; what did he do to hers? Sode no Shirayuki/Zangetsu, heavily implied IchiRuki


**A/N: another one-shot, while I work on a multi chapter project. I don't think it'll be out until sometime later in the month, but if you're an interested Byakuya/Hisana fan, I'd keep an eye out for it. Thanks for clicking, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.**

* * *

_**Breathe Me**_

She is an ice zanpakuto, the epitome of winter, of the ice and frost of late December.

She is cold and she is calculated, terrifying in her slow, needle-grip path to death. She lives in the frozen depths of the proclaimed Ice Queen of Soul Society, the girl who buried her heart with her precious Kaien Shiba, who threw away the warmth when she was thrown away by Renji Abarai. She encases herself in the permafrost to protect herself from the befuddling storm that is her adopted brother, to shield her heart from anyone that gets too close.

Her soul grows cold.

Too cold.

Even Sode no Shirayuki has her limits.

The gentle snowfall that was once her mistress's heart turns into a blizzard, too harsh and too violent to be habitable, even for her. The wind stings, and the cold is so absolute it actually numbs her, takes the feeling out of her fingers and toes.

She cannot see the sky.

* * *

She does not have the grace to see one, does not see anything except that endless expanse of white, until she is thrust suddenly into a whole new world.

It is a sideways world, disorienting yet strangely organized, the tall buildings looming side by side, together.

It is raining.

Pouring, actually, causing the silk of her kimono to stick to her skin, her hair getting drenched and heavy with the added weight of the clips.

It sucks.

It really, really sucks.

But it's better than that unending winter, she thinks. The unending torture house. She reveled in snow, basked in winter, but that blizzard… it had been _decades_.

Centuries?

No, decades. She thinks hard. Definitely decades. Lady Rukia, though tempestuous at times, wouldn't have gone that long without speaking to her. Their relationship was strange – quiet but strong, glued together by mutual understanding of their duties, of the shinigami's trembling bravery and her zanpakuto's own unwavering resolve.

She thinks back. What had happened? She had only been half-paying attention in the hours before that last Hollow attack, still so caught up in that blizzard that she was only ever really focused on the outside world when being released.

She remembers a boy. A bright-haired boy, whose face had jumped out at her during some instance of clarity, when the warmth returned to her toes. Infuriating, she remembers him being, annoyance sparking through her lady's body and resounding in hers.

She remembers the boy's own anger. His impatience. The way he goaded Lady Rukia, but never quite actually angered her, stirring up some strange mix of annoyance and vague amusement. She remembers his resolve, the angry, vengeful valiance he'd exhibited when his family was being attacked. She remembers her lady's awe, and pride, and anxiety when he threw himself in front of that hollow.

The sharp-shooting pain when the thing's teeth sunk into her shoulder. Her awe with this boy, when he took Sode no Shirayuki by her blade and –

And –

The zanpakuto spirit bites back a groan, throwing her head back and just barely managing not to curse her mistress from the Earth to the Sky.

She is not just in some limbo-like afterworld, then. She is in his world, the boy's, trapped in the deepest depths of his very soul until Rukia regains her powers back.

_Fantastic_.

* * *

She wanders about for a while, until she is shuddering from the rain and too uncomfortable in her heavy clothing to go much further.

She is used to the cold, sure. But this rain isn't like the snow in her lady's heart. It falls hard, and seeps into her skin, chilling her to the very bone.

She plops down rather gracelessly on one of the buildings, the fabric of her kimono sliding against the glass of the window she has perched herself on. Senbonzakura would be disappointed in her.

"I hate this."

Her voice resounds through the empty world, and she growls, her annoyance and anger and resentment from the past decades rearing it's head. She'd spent _years_ in that godforsaken storm, and for what? To be pulled into a different prison, a world of odd sideways skyscrapers and never-ending rain?

This is _worse_ than the blizzard, if anything! At least in that blizzard, she'd known her limits. She was in her own territory, at the very least. But here? She was a guest in a stranger's home, and a very strange home, at that.

Her voice is louder this time, a hoarse near-cry as she howls to the endless gray sky. "I _hate_ this!" She even stomps her feet for good measure.

Oh, yes. Senbonzakura would be _so_ proud.

She sits there for a moment, soaked through by rain and stewing in her frustration and resentment, until a new voice breaks through her reverie.

"Tell me about it."

The voice is deep and rich and male, and oddly familiar, like maybe she'd heard it before, a very long time ago. She turns her head slightly to the side, blinking at the new figure that had appeared.

Tall. Dark. Not exactly handsome, but good-looking, she supposes, in an untraditional sort of way.

He is looking at her like she is some sort of alien, an anomaly he has yet to properly label.

"You must be that boy's. Ichigo Kurosaki." The words tumble out of her mouth before she can think them through properly, the need to say something and get rid of this heavy silence overpowering much of anything else.

His eyes harden, almost in accusation. "I am_ no one's_."

Her eyebrows lift, nearly to her hairline. _Okay_ then. She supposes it's not unusual, a zanpakuto with an identity crisis. Especially when you were the zanpakuto of a human, a strange human with overwhelming reiatsu and who had sucked out a shinigami's power so much that their zanpakuto's spirit had been sucked inside, right along with all that power.

Sode no Shirayuki blinks.

_What?_

Everything is just too bizarre.

She stands with all the grace she can muster, with the horrible state of her clothes the way it is now, anyway, and smiles at him.

She is stuck in a sideways world where it never seems to stop raining, in the heart of a boy who has no idea what he is getting into, in the company of a spirit who refuses to acknowledge himself as being the boy's.

Damn her if she won't try and make the best of it.

* * *

"The rain is stopping."

"Impossible."

The word is breathed out through parted lips, three days later. She still does not know his name, and he does not know hers, and that's perfectly fine by her.

Names have power.

She is not quite sure she trusts him enough to give him that.

He has been nothing but cordial to her since her arrival. A bit abrasive, maybe, a rough-edged man in the company of a spirit who is used to no one but a quiet, moody samurai as company, usually.

He does not actively seek her out, ever, but he does not push her away when she sits close to him. He strikes her as lonely, even if he seems like the type to deny it till the end of the Earth.

In the three days she had been here, the rain hadn't ever shown signs of letting up.

Until now, anyway.

It comes in softer sheets, not quite stopping but more of a drizzle than the relentless downpour it had been when she had first arrived.

She wonders what changed.

Then she looks at his wonder struck face, staring at the sky, and figures she doesn't quite care.

There's hope in his eyes, so she won't complain.

* * *

It's another two days before the rain stops entirely and the clouds begin to break.

She figures out what's changed.

The boy, Ichigo; his heart beats in time with that of her mistress's, the heavy weight of his past becoming lighter with some unspoken promise of the future. He finds comfort in his borrowed shihakusho, in his sword that he has yet to fully unleash, just yet, in the tiny shinigami who tosses him into this new life, who presses him forward with the soles of her shoes or the palms of her hands.

The day the rain stops entirely, she finds her dark-eyed stranger staring at the sky.  
"She's so good for him," he says, and she doesn't disagree.

Rukia is good for a lot of people, whether she knows it or not. She had been good for the strays, the lieutenant, even the aristocrat, though she'd never believe it. They find something in her – a future, a purpose, someone to leave their hearts with.

She carries more inside of her than she'll ever realize.

Maybe that was why that blizzard had been so heavy.

"The rain has always been here, ever since his mother's death," he explains quietly, almost hesitantly, imparting information on his shinigami he's not quite sure he's meant to impart. Then he remembers he's not his shinigami, not _technically_, not yet, and feels a little less guilty. "She stopped it. That girl of yours _stopped_ it."

Sode no Shirayuki glances up at the sky, at the heavenly break in the vast gray clouds, and smiles.

"Yes, she did."

* * *

She is ripped away without warning.

It happens quickly, quietly, without much drama or fanfare. There is sharp-shooting pain when his soul chain is severed, when the link that connected Ichigo and Rukia is damaged. She doesn't know where she'll go, not when both her shinigami have lost their powers.

She swears she hears the hoarse whisper-cry of a one-time friend. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's not like he wants to do this, either._

Apologies mean nothing, not now, not even from Senbonzakura.

She calls out for a man who has no name, her hands reaching for his, fingers flexing.

She glimpses the sadness in his eyes, and does not have to look at the sky to know what she will find.

* * *

Her world is vast and echoing, a maybe-not-quite-limbo that does not end until months, or perhaps years later, when she opens her eyes and finds herself in a world she'd thought lost.

The blizzard is gone. Not even the gentle snowfall remains, the sky a clear, cold blue above her. Below her is fresh snow, light and pure and untainted, even by the faintest trail of dirt. Naked trees bow low to the groud around her, a shimmering, not-quite frozen lake gleaming in the distance.

"Sode no Shirayuki!" someone cries, a familiar, female voice, one laced with breathless relief and happiness. Two arms wrap themselves around her neck in one of the most welcoming hugs she's ever received.

The zanpakuto spirit cradles her lady close, the girl's happy laughter echoing in her ears. "I thought I'd lost you. Captain Unohana said it was normal, for it to take a while for you to remanifest, but I was getting so worried, and – Sode?"

The young shinigami pulls back, violet eyes widening at the sight of her spirit.

Sode no Shirayuki is so lost in her survey of Rukia's inner world that she does not notice the pale, warm hand come up until it's already cupping her cheek.

Ice-blue eyes collide with concerned violet.

"Sode, you're crying."

Was she? The Yuki-Onna gasps, feeling the warm fluid drip off one of her cheeks, the breeze of her domain making her cheeks cold. She brings her kimono sleeves up to her face in a last-minute attempt to preserve her dignity and hide her emotions.

She is the zanpakuto of one of the iciest women in all of Soul Society.

She does not _cry_.

And yet here she is, barely holding in the sobs, emotion making her chest swell, something inside of her melting, melting, melting.

It aches in the best way possible.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," her shinigami says, trying to console her, not knowing what's truly eating at her, assuming it was the months she'd been without her powers.

Oh, her sweet, precious girl. Sode no Shirayuki laughs and shakes her head, swiping at her eyes. It is not her mistress's fault. Not really. Not for the blizzard, not for locking her away in that sideways world. Not for introducing her to the orange-haired boy's spirit. Not for stopping the rain in his heart.

Just as it was not the boy's fault for stopping the blizzard in hers.

The tears rolling down the spirit's cheeks are strange. They are sad and they are joyful – her domain is at peace, but she feels so far from her old companion, the lonely man who lived in that relentless rain.

She hopes it's stopped.

* * *

When they meet again, Rukia and Ichigo, her world comes alive in a starburst of color, two existences meshing together as two hearts come together.

Oh, they really are in trouble now.

The Yuki-Onna smiles to herself as the snow of her domain fades away into the sideways-sky world of his, as she walks past a red bridge and onto a blue skyscraper.

It is not snowing, and it is not raining. The sky is a perfect blue in both worlds, and she revels in it.

"I thought I wouldn't see you again."

It's not his voice. But it is. But it isn't. It is high-pitched and menacing, but there is a familiar cadance, an undertone of _hello, it's nice to have met you._

She turns around and is face-to-face with the stuff of most nightmares.

She has learned the stories – from Senbonzakura, from Byakuya, through Rukia. She has heard tell of the hollow living inside the boy that had taken root in her mistress's heart, but this is the first time she sees him in all his yellow-eyed, washed-out glory.

She knows secrets they don't, can see it in those glowing yellow eyes, the echo of sadness and_ please _see_ me._

_Please don't turn away._

It is acceptance in it's truest form, her decision to step forward, to claim the spirit as well as the beast, to hold the horse as her lady holds the king.

He is Zangetsu.

He is Ichigo.

He is something entirely new, a part of that boy-king her lady loves, a part of the spirit she herself cares very much for.

"I missed you," she tells him, honestly, and the steely glint in his eyes softens, just a bit.

* * *

Days fade into weeks, into months, and the Hollow goes, replaced by the spirit she'd shared the rain with.

"You were a part of him," she says, waltzing into his world, the clouds light and fluffy above them.

"He is a part of me," he concedes after a moment, hand pressed to his chest.

She does not hesitate, coming up to place a hand on his, to hold his heart tight. She'll take it all, if he'll let her. She'll take all the pain and the heartache, the darkness that threatens to swallow her whole. His eyes bore holes into hers, a question that she doesn't have to answer lingering there.

"You accept me?" he asks, his voice hoarse and vulnerable in a way she reckons it isn't usually.

"As she accepts him," she murmurs, thinking back to Rukia's initial shock, then her steely determination. Her own hesitance, her own growing warmth. The fierce, shaking bravery shinigami and zanpakuto had shared.

She'd heard once that love was witnessing the worst in people and staying, anyway.

She thinks whoever said it wasn't wrong.

* * *

She figures she'll always owe them, in a way.

She tells him as much, when he finally gains enough courage to follow her into her vast wonderland.

"How so?" he asks, wrinkling his nose at the falling snow. It's not like he's cold, but he'd heard her stories of that eternal blizzard, and he's a bit wary of her world now.

Rukia Kuchiki is not known for her stable temperament. Sode no Shirayuki was not be worried – she knows her mistress very well, after all, knows her well enough to know the blizzard was a byproduct, a side-effect from Kaien Shiba's death, the straw that broke the camel's back.

That knowledge didn't mean Zangetsu wasn't wary, and really, the more she thinks about it, the more the ice zanpakuto spirit finds she can't blame him.

She was wary in his world sometimes, too. That rain was relentless.

"You stopped the snow," she says softly, staring up at the sky, "Not completely, of course. I doubt these scars will ever completely heal, but you saved me. He saved her. This is the most she's felt in over half a century, you know? I'm just glad she's happy now."

Zangetsu stares at her for a long while before coming up beside her, his hand falling into hers. She might have been appalled, by his nonexistent sense of personal space, if it weren't for the surge of warmth that crept from her hand, spreading through her whole body.

It takes all her willpower not to start blushing like some child spirit.

"It works two ways, you know. The healing. The rain stopped only because of you two."

It is the most personal thing she has ever heard come from his lips. She smiles.

The sun shines, just a bit brighter.


End file.
